


If you linger you'll find what's left behind

by EbonyAura



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Confusion, Eternal Solitary Confinement, Fear, Fear of Death, Ghosts, Graveyard fic, I see a plot forming in the distance, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:15:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyAura/pseuds/EbonyAura
Summary: Megatron does not believe in spirits.At least, not until he takes on a bet and pays a visit to the most haunted place in the city.
Relationships: Megatron & Optimus Prime
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	If you linger you'll find what's left behind

**Author's Note:**

> I'm supposed to be working on like two other stories, and of course I decide to just come up with a completely new one. What's wrong with me...
> 
> This is an AU where the war never happened and Megatron lives on a Cybertron that actually gives a shit about him and his friends. He's young and he's going to Iacon's academy to continue his education. He's got no idea what he's gonna do with his life either. What's better, he and his friends are so bored they're arguing about whether or not ghosts exist. 
> 
> I'm combining characters from TFP, TFA, IDW, and even 2001 RID, so that's why I ain't labeling this to one universe. 
> 
> Enjoy my next mess.

_When this is over, Tarn is scrap metal._

Megatron grumbled and sneered to himself as he walked alongside the fence. He glanced out towards the street, hoping he’d yet to be the center of any unwanted attention. It didn’t look like it; the nearest star their planet revolved around had retreated from its orbit over the city a while ago. Most mecha had already retired into their homes, dormitories, and apartments. The only bot one would find out at this time of night would be… Well, bots like himself.

Crimson optics slid back towards the right, peering subtly through his pauldron spikes at the black, wrought iron fencing that traced the edge of the sidewalk. They then peered beyond it, gazing at the headstones and monuments marking the burial sites of the dead. Despite the darkness of the night, each of them peeked back at him like stray optics.

_Oh yes. Tarn is absolutely scrapped._

_And so are the rest of those glitches for putting me up to this._

He passed under the light of a streetlamp and disappeared into the bleakness when he pulled out of its reach. He’d made this trek many times before in daylight, once this morning actually, and he knew he was reaching a blind spot of both the nearby buildings and their cameras.

That would most likely be the only good factor to come out of tonight. If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was unnecessary witnesses proclaiming him a grave desecrater and calling the enforcers on him.

A couple more lengths down he halted, turning to look at the two streetlamps he’d put himself in the middle of. Here was his best chance of acting unnoticed. Megatron turned fully towards the fence. Scrutinizing crimson optics scanned it and scaled it, taking in every detail. On a normal Iaconian mech, the sharpened spear points resting on top of the thin iron posts towered at least a helm-length above. On a Kaonian-descended mech like him, it just barely reached his shoulders. For his young and athletically-able joints, it was an easy challenge.

Rolling his shoulders, he took a few steps back before sprinting at the fence. He grasped one of the spear points in his clawed servo, pushed himself off the ground and vaulted up over the fence. In the nanosecond it took to reach the other side he tucked and rolled, landing near soundlessly on one knee. Megatron then looked ahead at his surroundings. A few lengths ahead a tombstone stared him down, its writing indistinguishable in the current amount of light and in the angle at which it sat. Around it, more stones planted in rows gave him a uniformed view of the expanse of the graveyard. It stretched a long way, to the edge of the city and beyond according to the city maps. He tried not to think about how many dead bots it took to make a burial site that expansive.

_I am never taking on a bet from Tarn again._

He rose to his peds, scanned the area once more, and carefully side-stepped the tombstone he’d landed in front of. From there he began the trek inward, making sure to keep in between the graves. No need to leave unnecessary evidence of his presence over where greying husks were decaying. The landscape was quiet. He could not hear any ground modes passing through where he’d entered, nor did he hear any seekers and flight modes in the sky overhead. It was an discomforting silence, and he found himself half-expecting to hear an enforcer at any moment, ready to arrest him for breaking into Iacon’s oldest burial grounds. That outcome was enough to keep him on edge.

But if three generations of rowdy academy students could sneak in and out of this place undetected, then so could he.

In front of him, the rows were beginning to slope upwards, following a small inclination in the yard that marked where the older graves were. Glancing down at the stones as he passed them, he pondered them. Questioned who they might’ve belonged to.

In truth, he wasn’t one to pay all that much attention to the local history of Iacon. But he knew enough bots at the academy to hear about it from those who did. Some of these graves were said to be hundreds of stellar cycles old. They held a plethora of mecha and femmes from cities all over Cybertron. They were said to even hold the last remains of Cybertron’s noble families, the highest powers before the end of the Golden Age.

Bots such as them were the reason he had to be so careful about sneaking in. Historians, after all, were quite adamant about preserving every single shred of Cybertron’s history. Despite whether or not it deserved to be remembered.

Pausing for a moment, he inclined his helm upwards to view his destination. The top of the hill wasn’t all that grand. The mausoleum which sat over it, however, gave it quite the character. Such a sight reminded him vaguely of a ruler on their throne, staring down at the fading stones as if they were peasants beneath their peds. It also gave him another reason to be unnerved. But he shook his helm at himself, determined to give no heed to any less-than-logical thoughts that might surface from being here. It would only be for a few groons and he did, after all, have a bet to win.

Setting his shoulders Megatron pushed on, hiking up the hill in long strides and pointedly ignoring the growing distance between him and the living world beyond the fence. He found it no particular challenge compared to the training exercises earlier in the day and soon reached the top, leaving behind the rows of stones to stand in front of the ancient structure he’d seen below.

In spite of his previous observations, it wasn’t particularly menacing up close. Just old, and quite a bit smaller than he’d been expecting. Its height didn’t even reach the halfway mark of the academy’s lecture buildings. But he could admit it was a well-designed structure. Two sculpted pillars which held up an obtuse roof were held in between two small windows. The top of each window’s frame arched into an elegant, bullet-shaped curve. In the middle of the pillars stood a similarly-shaped door, sprouting from the steps that melded into the ground.

Even at night, he could tell it was a beautiful building. And even better, he’d yet to hear a single scream, cry or wail come from inside its walls.

_Looks like I’ve already proven one speculation wrong._

As he walked up to the building, he glanced around one more time, confirming he was alone. When he reached the steps, he climbed them, his peds giving off a resounding clank against each of their smooth surfaces. He stopped when he reached the door, his red optics scanning it up and down. It was supposed to be sealed shut and locked, but if his sources (other “brave” students who’d done this before) were correct, the lock had rusted away a long time ago. He could push it open easily enough.

Without a second thought, Megatron swung himself around to put his spiked shoulder pauldron against the cold exterior of the door. With a grunt, he forced all of his weight against it to put forth a sudden and hard shove, resulting in the most ominous creak of metal he’d ever heard in his life cycles. The door loosened and gave into his weight, slowly swinging inward. He continued to push against it until he felt a sudden shift of the air as he stepped inside the mausoleum.

The atmosphere inside felt rigid, stagnant and still. It felt weird standing within it, as if he’d stepped into the scene of a scary story right at the line where the author decided to put in some line about ‘thick tension in the air.’ Megatron halted and looked up from the door, taking his first glimpse at the interior of the building. Where it might’ve been dark outside, it was pitch black inside. The only light he had to go off of came from either his optics or the minimal glow of the starry sky in the windows. Though it wasn’t much, it did enlighten him to the set of stairs that dropped off a few ped lengths from where he stood. He counted something like ten steps. At their bottom, he caught sight of the end of a stone coffin. The first and sole occupant, whoever it might be, of this house for the dead.

Megatron had to physically stop himself from shuddering and decided that was enough visual exploration. He may not believe in spirits, but he most certainly agreed with the eeriness of this place.

_Just a few groons._

He reminded himself, turning back to put shoulder to the door again. Pushing it the other way, he decided to keep it open about a ped length so he didn’t have to ventilate stagnant air the whole way through.

_Just a few groons, and it’ll be over. I’ll never have to enter this place again._

As he sat down by the door to wait out the allotted time stamp his friends had put on him, it occurred that he should’ve brought something to do. At the very least, a datapad to read would’ve been nice, even if he despised reading. Pit, he’d even settle for the homework he kept putting aside for the past week in favor of training. It’d beat staring at the pitch black interior of a deceased bot’s tomb.

_At the least, it’ll be worth it to witness the looks on their faces tomorrow after I won._

At that thought Megatron quietly snorted, a small smirk curling on his face. With that, he leaned his back strut against the wall, settling beside the door to pointedly ignore his current surroundings and patiently wait for his victory.

*

A little over a groon into his time stamp, Megatron felt another shift in the air.

He recycled his optics, focusing once more on the inside of the building. The air around him, which had previously been stiff and thick, felt as if it were beginning to loosen itself of the tension he’d been trying to temper himself to. It was still stagnant and uncomfortable, but easier to ventilate. Megatron looked out at the world through the crack in the door. There was no wind coming in from the doorway, none that he could feel anyway. But perhaps enough had come through to finally give a little bit of respite. Out of boredom, he cycled air in through his vents and held it in, wondering if the difference he felt would register to his processor’s chemical identification threads. He waited, but nothing came of it. No physical difference was quantifiable.

_Huh. That’s interesting._

The air shifted again. This time he couldn’t pin it on anything from outside.

It felt… animated. Like something was slowly building within it. The stillness he’d become used to was fading into the sensation of something moving around him. Recycling his optics again, Megatron looked back at the inside of the mausoleum. None of his senses or processing threads could detect any physical difference, but he could’ve sworn it was there. It was affecting the magnetic field he’d pulled close to his limbs. It was gaining traction and power with every passing nanosecond. And it was hard to shake.

Red optics narrowing, he scanned what could see multiple times. The stairs were the same, the coffin did not portray any visual distinction. Nothing moved, nothing changed, not even a small flick of new scenery or a hint of sound. It was empty, save for him and his seemingly degrading sensory threads. The energy he felt only continued to build, but he shook his helm, adamantly reestablishing reality.

_You’re imagining this. All those fragging stories about this place from the others has you imagining things. You have less than three groons to go._

Megatron growled at himself, steeling his resolve despite the energy in the air he thought he felt. He came up with every reason he could think of to brush it off, most of them revolved around faults in his processing. He normally _wasn’t_ bothered by the ghost stories his friends liked to share late at night when he visited their dorms, and he wasn’t about to pin a label of truth on this one. Granted, this one had always been one to hit closer to home as a student of Iacon’s Academy right next door. But in real life, late at night in a graveyard, those stories were impossible not to recall and he supposed that even he was not invulnerable. That annoyed him immensely, but it worked for a few kliks to keep him somewhat occupied in thought.

A train of thought which was abruptly interrupted by—

“You should not be here.”

Megatron’s optics snapped wide at the startingly low voice from below and he jerked upright. The energy he thought he’d registered in the air now felt like it was whizzing by at improbable speeds, reaching its peak point of animation. He immediately looked down towards where the voice had come from and met the sight of the coffin. Was there someone behind it? Had some bot been here the whole time and he hadn’t even noticed?

He quickly pushed himself to his peds, shaking away any traces of panic and letting a growl take their place. His optics never left the bottom level of the mausoleum.

“Neither should you, mech. Who are you?” He slowly replied, his rough rasp piercing the silent void the other voice left behind. “How long have you been here? Show yourself!”

No response followed at first, but he felt the air around him begin to stiffen and gain weight, as if it were physically dropping down over him. Whoever it was, he caught no sight of them. The little bit of light he had shed no insight on the interior of this place any better than it had previously. 

“… I do not know how long I have been here.” The voice finally replied. Megatron felt its depth surround him. Blend into the darkness. Echo throughout the building. He was chilled by how far that voice could reach in spite of its quiet volume. “I can only infer it has been an extensive amount of time.”

That only supplied more questions than answers. Was this another student trapped in here? That was impossible, the door was unlocked, he’d opened it himself. No one should be in here but him. The silver mech’s lip plates curled up into a sneer as he stared down at the coffin.

“What the frag are you talking about mech?! Show yourself!”

The stiffness in the air seemed to grow palpable as he waited another long two kliks for a response.

“I do not think that would be a wise course of action.”

Crimson optics narrowed in confusion. They then grew pointed in impatience and anger.

“What? For Pit’s sake, if you don’t come out from wherever you’re hiding, I will make you wish _you_ are the one in that coffin!”

The lingering unease that kept churning in the back of his processor was momentarily forgotten in favor of this mech that only continued to grate at his nerves. Megatron trudged forward and began to descend the stairs. The air around him seemed to buzz, as if electricity were trying to charge the oppressive weight that kept getting heavier. The unease and panic in the back of his processor kept pushing at him, pawing at him, trying to gain his attention. Trying to tell him that _something_ _wasn’t right_ about this situation. Something about it was off, more so than finding someone else in a mausoleum late at night.

He ignored that instinct for a moment too long.

Megatron reached the bottom step in the same instant he caught a glimpse of light coming from behind the coffin and illuminating a small section of the wall. He halted, his entire frame tense. That was _not_ supposed to there. Everything down here was supposed to be dark. What could be producing that kind of a glow?

Instinctively, his claws curled, and he angled his spiked shoulders towards it in self-defense. About half a klik later, the glow began to spread over the wall, moving as if it were a shadow. It crept closer and closer until after it came a glowing blue orb of light, floating above him. It slowly inched out from behind the stone coffin to hover a few lengths away from the silver mech.

Megatron froze. He was unable to stop the fear that burst forth and circulated through his spark.

_What the…_

He had no time to react before the orb suddenly grew larger. The room was instantly illuminated in a flash as it stretched towards the ground and then up to a height just underneath his helm. He only had just enough sense to flinch back from the blinding light.

The orb morphed into the familiar shape of limb struts, peds, and servos. It wrapped around itself into the form of a narrow-waisted, broad-shouldered frame. It bled into plating that also glowed red and silver. It coalesced into a blue helm, silver faceplates, audial fins, and a helm crest. It shined through bright blue optics that opened and immediately regarding him warily.

_You’re seeing things! You haven’t been getting enough recharge! Those glitches have told you too many stories and now you’re seeing things!_

For a long moment they only stared at each other, neither of them able nor willing to make the first move. Energy in the air coursed between them like a never-ending battery circuit, infinitely fast and unbreakable. Megatron was paralyzed, staring at the mech in front of him in horror and confusion. His processor was fritzing, refusing to believe that what he just saw take place. It _couldn’t_ be real; it just _wasn’t_ possible. Spirits were _not_ real! He did _not_ believe in them!

But then what was this mech-like entity staring back at him?

_You’re hallucinating! You’ve officially lost your mind!_

He realized belatedly that his earlier threat might’ve not only empty, but idiotic.

The glowing red and blue mech blinked, his helm tilting in what might’ve been curiosity on a living bot. Distant blue optics scanned over him, taking in the details of the silver frame. He made no move closer. Instead, the moment of stillness between them ended, and the glowing mech took a step backward.

“You do not belong here.” He spoke at last, the baritone of his voice nothing more than a whisper even as it resounded around them. “You should leave.”

Megatron recycled his optics, his processor sluggishly resurfacing from its logic circuit breakdown. He made no move to follow the suggestion.

“Who…” he tried to ask, only for his voice box to fizzle out. Megatron half-hazardously reset it, resulting in the rest of his inquiry coming through in a less-than-powerful rasp. “Who are you? What are you?”

The red and blue mech’s glow flickered, and the air around him seemed to tighten as if it were a tense limb. But as soon as it came about it dissipated into the dark oblivion around them.

“… I think my designation was Optimus.”

Another statement that raised more questions than it did answers. At the least, deciding which question focus on was helping Megatron come out of his shock.

“You think?” He asked incredulously, raising a metal brow at the apparition in front of him. “What do you mean you _think_? How do you not know whether or not that’s your designation?”

The glowing bot shifted his shoulders in something resembling a shrug. Megatron briefly debated whether he should actually be talking to this—whatever this mech was.

“I cannot actually recall if that was my true designation. But it is the name carved into the stone of this tomb, and other living mecha who’ve come here have referred to me by that designation.”

He paused, his bright blue optics glancing over to the coffin back from the living silver mech. Megatron followed his gaze, briefly catching sight of a silver plaque cemented into the side of the coffin. The symbols written into it were still hard to read, even in the light he produced. The being turned his head back.

“I have also been designated by many names. ‘Spirit,’ ‘demon,’ ‘lost spark,’ ‘ghost of the mausoleum’... So I can only suppose that the one in stone is my true name.”

Megatron stared hard at the plaque, then at the apparition in front of him. Then the plaque. Then the apparition.

_They were... right? It actually exists…?_

His direction of sight shifted back and fourth for about a klik before he did the only thing he could at this point: he turned around and collapsed onto the steps. He then ran a servo over his faceplates in a poor attempt to fend off the upcoming processor ache since his logic circuits had been blown.

“Primus help me.” He mumbled to himself. “Am I talking to a fragging ghost?”

The glow of the mech before him did not approach nor did it retreat any further at his actions. He spent the next few moments in an unbelieving, miserable silence before another low whisper tumbled through the room.

“What is your designation?”

The silver mech’s servo fell away from his faceplates as he craned his helm back up to regard the apparition. He stared back in silence, but curiosity had returned to his gaze. Megatron decided at that point there wasn’t much to lose.

“Megatron… Megatron of Kaon.”

Blue light flickered again as the apparition’s optics flashed in surprise.

“Kaon? I have… never met anyone from Kaon before.”

The silver mech did not have any response to that, still adjusting to the fact that he was holding a conversation with a glowing entity in a tomb. Though, in all fairness, Optimus seemed just as unnerved to be a part of this interaction if his wary gaze and visually tense frame were any indication. Those unnaturally bright blue optics did not look away. It almost felt like they were attempting to pierce through him.

“Why did you come to this place?”

Optimus asked after a moment. When the glow around him flickered, the intensity of the energy in the air seemed to slow as well. If Megatron weren’t doubting his own sense of vision, he would’ve put greater consideration into how the glow was beginning to dim with each shift of a glimmer. His line of sight dropped to the ground below him as he answered.

“My friends sent me here on a bet.”

The ghost blinked, apparently not expecting the reply he was given.

“… A bet?”

Optimus asked, his helm tilting again in a visible show of confusion. Crimson optics searched the dark floor by his peds for a direction of how to answer this. The skeptical part of him wondered if putting this much contemplation into a response was worth it. Even if this was real, what was the worst that could happen? Maybe have a glowing arm phase through him if the ghost didn’t like his reasoning? Another part of him wondered if he should put more consideration of the possibility that the reasoning behind his presence would offend the ghost. He did, after all, come here thinking the mere notion of its existence was laughable. Would it be better to lie?

Megatron decided to go with his earlier conclusion that he still had nothing left to lose.

“Earlier tonight, my friends and I made a wager after discussing our beliefs. And in an attempt to prove my convictions toward the inexistence of spirits,” he started, avoiding the ghost’s gaze for all it was worth despite the confidence he inserted into his tone. “I was supposed to come here and spend four groons inside. If I saw something and left early, I loose. If I stay for the allotted time stamp without seeing anything, I win.”

In half-dread, he looked back up, expecting to see those silver faceplates twist in a ghoulish anger. But he received none. Optimus’s expression was unnervingly emotionless. No electro-magnetic field hovering around him betrayed an immediate change in demeanor. If anything, the only actual variation he detected was the glow around the entity dimming just a little bit more. Or was he still seeing things?

“You did not believe in my existence.”

The entity stated, thought the question within it was most likely implied. There was no detectable offense that Megatron could hear though, which brought forth a strange sense of relief. Megatron felt a bit awkward as he cleared his intake.

“No. In all honesty, I’m still debating whether or not you’re a hallucinogenic glitch in my processor.”

Optimus still showed no sign of offense or anger. He only watched the living mech in front of him wordlessly. Megatron could almost feel that unnatural gaze on him and grew more uncomfortable as the quiet between them continued to stretch.

“… Is that why other living beings have come here in the past?” The entity then inquired, his low voice conveying some degree of bewilderment. His interruption of the silence was so sudden it startled the silver mech. “To… win wagers?”

The silver mech blinked, questioning if the ghost itself was delusional.

_Living beings in the past? Who would—_

Logic finally came back to him. There was a reason the door to the mausoleum was unlocked. Multiple generations of students had been here before him, passing down the story of the ghost who supposedly appeared in the arched windows and could be heard crying out from inside in the dark hours of the cycle. For a couple nanoseconds he reflected on those past students, debating how they might’ve reacted when they were the ones here instead of him.

“It’s more likely that they came here just to see if you’re real.”

He said with a shrug. The energy in the air around them was dissipating. Megatron couldn’t prove it with any quantifiable calculations or any chemical imbalance identification from his sensory threads. But like before, he could feel it, and he was starting to realize that he could see it too. The entity’s light was definitely dimmer than it was previously, and the edges of its glow only continued to seep away into the dark. He took in the slow progression with an inquisitive arch of a brow.

Optimus, in turn, did not react to his reply. He reacted more to the change in the silver mech’s expression, his glow flickering again. The ghost’s frame slowly shifted, as if he couldn’t decide whether to take a step forward or retreat back behind the stone coffin.

“No one has ever stayed in here for so long.” Optimus stated cryptically, but softly, the volume of his voice dissipating further with his glow. “Are you not afraid of me?”

_So long? How long has it been since I entered?_

A quick check of his chronometer told him that the ghost actually had a point. He may have just spent the last groon foolishly debating whether he _should_ leave, and now he was over halfway into his time stamp with a little less than two groons left to go.

_Well, at the least I’ll most likely last the full length of the bet._

Megatron focused back on the glowing entity and fought not to shrug again.

“I’m creeped out by you.” He admitted honestly, getting the sense that if Optimus was real, he did not care what the answer was as long as it was an answer. “But you haven’t tried to hurt me, so I don’t think so… Should I be afraid of you?”

Slowly, the ghost shook his blue helm again, his glow flickering multiple times. The energy in the air seemed to turn into an echo.

“I do not mean you any—”

Before the ghost could finish, his glow suddenly flickered out. The image of his frame dissipated, and with him all the energy in the air depleted. The sight forced Megatron back into alertness, and he leapt to his peds with wide optics.

“What the frag—Optimus?”

He called out, searching the bottom level of the mausoleum. It was pitch black again. He could barely make out the coffin in front of him and the stairs climbing behind. For a moment he speculated if it was truly just a hallucination and he’d been talking to himself the whole time.

Before the massive weight of embarrassment could drop over his helm, the energy in the air began to re-erect itself and zip past him. With it, a familiar baritone rang out through the inside of the building.

“I am here.”

It seemed to come from all around him. Megatron felt a small smidge of relief that he wasn’t crazy yet, then spun in a circle to try to locate a source. He did not see any blue orb or glowing frame.

“Where?”

His line of sight returned to the bottom level of the mausoleum just in time to catch a bright blue glow emerge from the back wall on the other side of the coffin. He watched as Optimus phased into the room through the stone, reappearing in front of the silver mech with something resembling a self-conscious expression flashing over his face.

“My apologies. I do not usually show myself for an extended period of time. This is… rather strange for me.”

Megatron was left staring at the entity once again, feeling his logic circuits sputter in and out of functionality. Questions only kept building up in the back of his processor and he almost asked if he would ever get a logical answer to any of them. The instinct that felt the energy returning to the air told him a solid ‘no.’

“Why not just stay invisible then?” He blurted out, inwardly cringing at how stupid he must sound. “Or in whatever state you were just in.”

Optimus did not reply at first, not until for the first time since witnessing him materialize he averted his gaze. It was the first show of definite emotion Megatron felt confident to label as bashfulness.

“I… I haven’t held a true conversation with anyone since awakening in the tomb.” The ghost confessed, this time avoiding Megatron’s gaze. The air felt heavier as he spoke. “Any other living mech whom I have shown myself to usually leaves immediately.”

When he seemed to regain enough courage to look at the silver mech, Megatron was surprised that he could now read gratitude plainly in those blue optics.

“I feel the best way for anyone to converse is through direct interaction… And I greatly appreciate this chance to converse with another, regardless of the circumstances.”

It was then that the young silver mech started to connect the dots. He went back on the most recent memory file in the forefront of his processor and rewound the words just spoken to him. He realized their implications. This was a mech, dead or not, had been trapped inside this dark building with his own empty shell since Primus knows when, and had no one to talk to except overcharged Academy students who ran at the first sight of him.

The heavy implication of how isolated and lonesome this entity was to appreciate even this much of a conversation with _anyone…_ It left Megatron feeling like he’d been punched in the tanks.

“Oh.”

He didn’t know what else to say in the moments that followed, which left them both in a disconcerting quiet. Megatron tried to ignore the way the energy in the air felt against his plating, almost like static, but not quite. It was a hard sensation to describe, he could only vaguely conclude that it was there.

Optimus soon broke the stillness between them once more, turning to look sideways and upwards. The silver mech followed his line of sight, meeting the stairs and the partially open door that resided on top of them. He looked back at the entity and found the emotionless expression had returned to his face. Perhaps a little too absent. Blank. Vacant. It sent a small chill running down his spinal strut.

“Megatron of Kaon.” The entity whispered, the sound of it falling into every corner of the room. “Please pardon me if this is a strange inquiry. But could you tell me about the outside?”

It took a considerable amount of self-control not to flinch back when the emptiness of those blue optics returned to look at him. The silver mech’s helm tilted at the request.

“The outside…? You mean outside the mausoleum?”

Optimus nodded, and his glow grew brighter as something else flashed over his faceplates. Something lost, something miserable, something desperate. It was an expression that lasted not even a fraction of a nanosecond, yet it terrified Megatron as much as the blankness did.

“Yes. Iacon. Kaon. Cybertron. Everything outside of the graveyard. I have been in here so long that I feel I have forgotten it. What is it like?”

It was a loaded question, one that may have been answered very easily. But Megatron found himself stumped. He never received high scores in his communication lectures, and here he was faced with a challenge those professors would’ve probably been thrilled by. How does one explain… _everything_ to someone that probably knew _nothing_?

“It’s… busy, I guess. And crowded.” He tried, deciding to focus on the small things. He pictured Iacon and Kaon side by side at the forefront of his processor, trying to pick out the easiest things to say about them, like the annoyance of traffic. “Everyone’s always rushing everywhere with something important to do.”

Optimus watched him intently, the curiosity Megatron had seen previously returning. The entity looked like he wanted to step forward but kept himself at a safe distance. Whether it was for the silver mech’s comfort or his own, the silver mech couldn’t tell for sure.

“What else?”

He fought the urge to grate his denta. He was not good at this kind of thing.

“Well, it’s loud… The cities, I mean. Everywhere you go, there’s always something going on. Even at night. I think this is the quietest place I’ve ever been in both Iacon and Kaon.”

“Is that so?” The entity murmured, looking back up at the door for a moment. “How do bots complete the important tasks they set out to do if it’s so noisy? Would that not hinder their concentration?”

Megatron thought about that and snorted.

“Yeah. I guess that’s why the visual network always stresses the importance of audial adjustment.”

He commented, more to himself than to Optimus, but the entity’s glow flashed a bit brighter.

“The… visual network? What is that?”

Another loaded question, one that he knew might take a while to answer. Megatron tried his best to describe everything about both cities, including their technology. Compare them. Contrast them. Find all the small details that may not interest him but seemed to fascinate the ghost.

Eventually, Megatron could not remember when, but he ended up sitting on the steps again, attempting to answer questions the entity standing in front of him continued to spill. Time passed without either of their acknowledgement. The silver mech forgot to keep track of his allotted time stamp. Optimus’s glow occasionally flickered and a few times he faded into the dark, but it did not take him long to rematerialize from one of the walls or the coffin itself.

_That_ reappearance unsettled the silver mech more than he cared to admit.

The groons ticked by, and the night outside cycled with them. Megatron did not realize how many of them had passed until he’d glanced away for a klik and noticed a sliver of light on the stairs next to him. He blinked, knowing Optimus was supposed to be the only source of light in the mausoleum, and followed it up the steps toward the door and windows.

Megatron twitched in surprise when he saw the first dredges of daylight seeping in through the glass and the crack in the door.

“Scrap!”

He cursed, interrupting his own description of Kaon’s rust storms and jumping to his peds. Optimus’s frame flickered at the sudden disruption and he took a few steps back, blinking in startlement and bewilderment.

“Is something wrong?”

The ghost muttered quickly, his blue optics never leaving the silver mech as he checked his chronometer, groaning when it notified him that the sun would be rising in the next twenty kliks.

“I was supposed to go back to my apartment two groons ago. Megazarak probably thinks I’m passed out in an alleyway or something.”

Megatron focused back on the entity whose glow began to blend with the light of a new day, not sure what to say. Should he apologize? Just leave?

The energy in the air around them halted and hung heavily between them. Optimus’s faceplates shifted, and he caught a longer glimpse of that same expression from before. The one so full of fear, misery, and desperation that it almost physically hurt him in turn. The apology hovering on the tip of his glossa almost fell into words before the expression was suddenly gone, replaced by something stoic. The entity nodded once respectfully.

“I understand. My apologies, I should not have kept you for so long.”

Not knowing what to say, the young silver mech turned to the stairs and jogged them two at a time. Despite the exhaustion he felt gnawing at his limb struts, the anxiety of getting out of here before being discovered allowed him to be alert. He bounded up to the door in the span of a few nanoseconds, reaching to pull it open before pausing.

Megatron was a lot of things, but he was not going to be rude to a most-likely-real ghost who’d only wanted someone to talk to for a while.

He turned to look over his shoulder.

“Uh… Nice to meet you, I guess?”

The spot where Optimus had been standing at the bottom of the stairs was bare of any ghostly glow. Megatron recycled his optics, his optics searching the room for a klik until he felt the air surrounding him prickle and zip over his plating like electricity. An instinct told him to turn left, and when he obeyed, he found the glowing red and blue mech standing in the dark corner by the window.

“I owe you thanks for your company tonight, Megatron of Kaon.” Definite gratitude laced his baritone voice, and the silver mech thought he caught the mech’s lip plate twitch upward. “It was a pleasure to speak with you.”

Megatron nodded back, his claws falling onto the edge of the door.

“Uh yeah. Thanks for letting me stay.”

As he spoke, Optimus’s glow flickered again, and the silver mech did not even bat an optic.

“Farewell, Megatron of Kaon.”

The entity murmured. He was left to observe as Optimus shuttered his optics and faded away one last time.

Megatron felt his spark dim for a pulse at the absence the entity left but shook himself of the ridiculous notion. Bracing himself against the door, he pulled it towards himself and opened it enough that he could amble through. He had other important things to worry about, like what Megazarak would have to say about staying out all night, or what Strika would have to say about his less-than-punctual return to the academy. Then there were classes, his waiting assignments, and his training session later on in the day. He almost groaned as the notifications for the day began to pile on top of one another at the forefront of his processor.

The fresh outside air hit him in a cool morning breeze. As he shut the mausoleum door and jogged down the steps, he let his vents take it in deep cycling rotations. He’d forgotten how it felt out here compared to inside. To be released of the musty, stagnant air was a welcome relief.

The night was over, he was free of the wager.

But as he walked back through the rows of gravestones, contemplating what he might tell others when he returned, Megatron found himself looking back over his shoulder.

Something deeper than a chill ran through him when he caught a glimpse of that familiar blue figure watching him from inside the arched window.

**Author's Note:**

> Might continue this. Might not. We'll see.


End file.
